Spectrum
by The Ramen Club
Summary: And all of a sudden, it's the little things that start to matter the most. Their hand gestures, the words they utter most often, the song they hum while cleaning the dishes. And you want to be present in all those moments. The clock is ticking much faster. You want to grab all those seconds and keep them safe in a box. You want to steal time.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.**

* * *

 _And all of a sudden, it's the little things that start to matter the most. Their hand gestures, the words they utter most often, the song they hum while cleaning the dishes. And you want to be present in all those moments. The clock is ticking much faster. You want to grab all those seconds and keep them safe in a box. You want to steal time._

 **l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.l.**

 **SPECTRUM**

.

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i. There's just something that doesn't feel right about it. She's sitting across from him and he feels there's something amiss. That it doesn't add up. He runs a finger along the menu, wracking his brain cells to piece together what exactly it is that's giving him an ominous vibe. Perhaps it's the jittering in his chest, or the way the sunlight catches her hair through the window as she studies the menu. No, that couldn't be it. He has been feeling that for a long while. Then it's the place, the small tea house located near the boundary of the village. He taps the empty glass placed in front of him in thought. It's not that either. They've been to the tea house many times before. He had the menu memorised down to the very last ingredient mentioned, but is only going through it once again to keep his thoughts steady. He looks up at her and catches her gaze.

 _How long has she been watching me?_

He places the menu down and calls the waiter.

As they wait for their tea and scones to be served, they indulge themselves in everyday conversation- chunin exams, recent events in Suna, how her brother are doing, more work related chit chat, how his mother is doing, the preparations for the year's winter festival.

They step out into the setting sun, the paved streets of Konoha, the digitised billboards under-construction that will transform his beloved village into a metropolis. They're walking together, shoulders occasionally bumping, light laughter, the wind rustling their hair.

And that's when it clicks him. This was supposed to be a date, but it ended up as any other ordinary day they would spend together. A faint blush dusts his cheeks.

 _Have I been dating her all this time?_

 ***S.P.E.C.T.R.U.M***

ii. She has the gentlest way of talking to her, and every time Temari comes to visit, she feels a strong yearning for her own mother.

 _I will visit her grave as soon as I get back._

She takes a sip of the Jasmine tea Yoshino had brought out in a bamboo tray and set down on the coffee table, and flips through the plastic coated pages of the album again.

"That's from his academy graduation", Yoshino points to a picture in the top left corner and then slides her finger to a boy in the middle of a group of kids with gleaming and bright smiles, peace signs and crinkled eyes to the camera. And the boy has his lip curled downwards, eyebrows furrowed, hands stuffed in his little pant pockets. He's looking at the camera, but he seems out of place in terms of spirit. He looks bored, unamused, apathetic.

 _Just like him._

She flips through more pictures- birthday celebrations, family dinners, weddings, promotion to Chunin, Academy functions. The same boy with a doleful look and a frown, sleepy eyes and an upright ponytail. Temari can't help but laugh.

"You used to be a lot sour before", she says when he comes home and Yoshino is in the kitchen preparing a hearty evening's meal. He takes his shoes off while sitting on the porch.

"What do you mean?" he queries, removing one boot and working on the next.

"It's like you practically hated everything" she snickers, folding her arms. He gets up to fetch the house slippers. She follows him inside.

"Well, I kind of did", he says flatly, walking into the living room. The smells of cooked meat and fried noodles are wafting in the air, diffusing from the kitchen to the whole house.

"But you're not that mopey anymore, in a way", she says, plopping down on the couch and crossing her legs. "I mean, you still complain about things, but it's actually less frequent now."

He sits down beside her with a glass of water he fetched from the kitchen. After a sip, he looks down at the polished wooden floor in thought. "I guess there's just not much to complain about anymore", he says, flicking his gaze over at her. Temari finds it much more interesting to trace patterns on the velvet of the couch, ignoring the _thump thump thump_ in her chest.

 ***S.P.E.C.T.R.U.M***

iii. "Let's go to the beach", she says, fanning her face that has turned tomato-red from the heat. Shikamaru pulls up a corner of his t-shirt and wipes his brow. The sheers are pulled back, windows open, the houses and building are a blur under the glow of the sun.

"It'll probably be even hotter at the beach", he mumbles, his eyes closed, leg propped up on the backrest of the couch, inches away from one of her pigtails.

"It's still better than staying cooped up here", she argues, although with less zest than usual. She peels herself off the couch, her back covered in a thin film of perspiration, and walks out onto the balcony. Shikamaru follows her movements with his eyes. He had bought the apartment right after their engagement, as a sanctuary for some privacy, a little youthful escapism, spending time watching TV marathons and playing shogi. He finds himself at peace in these four thin walls. She's leaning against the metal railing, looking out over the village. The village that will soon become her home. He hoped it would become her home; he would do everything in his power to make sure she would never regret the decision of staying with him and starting a family together. But sometimes, in the dark, in the dead hours of the night, the insecurity envelops him like a thick blanket in the summer heat- suffocating.

 _Am I really good enough?_

But he never had anything to offer in the first place, and she still chose him. He lost many people in his life and she still chose him. He has many inner demons to fight still and yet she chose him. He's lazy and unapologetic.

But she still chose him.

He shifts his body this way and that, till he can feel his back again. His shorts are sticking to his skin when he gets up and drags his feet to the refrigerator. He pulls out a packet of twin popsicles and brings it to the balcony, where she's standing in her crop top and billowy skirt, fanning herself. He splits the popsicles from the middle and hands one to her.

"Let's go to the beach", he says, tracing invisible patterns on her bare arms. She scoffs, taking a bite of the blue popsicle.

"Really?" she says, raising an eyebrow at him, sceptical. But the smirk gives it away.

"Yeah", he nods.

 ***S.P.E.C.T.R.U.M***

iv. The first morning after the wedding ceremony, she wakes up groggy and warm in someone else's bed. In someone else's room. In someone else's home. She pulls back her hair into a single pony tail and turns to see her now husband in a deep sleep, snoring, his shirt pulled up to his chest, small drool stain on the pillow. She smiles to herself and gets up, making her way to the kitchen.

 _I'm going to make breakfast today._

She sets up the frying pan, pours a dash of oil, cracks the eggs, and puts on the sausages.

Somehow, everything ends up getting burned. The eggs become too crispy, the toast crumbles to ash, the rice are stuck to the bottom of the pot, the sausages are charred. In a fit of rage she dumps all the food items in the waste bin, and the utensils in the sink. The frying pan, spatula, colander, pot. This normally doesn't happen. This _never_ happens, she muses. She has been cooking breakfast for her brothers for years. Then what was it about today? She doesn't ponder over it for long and sits down at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and a heavy heart.

She wanted to cook something for him. For the first time as his wife.

Normally, she wouldn't mind letting Shikamaru do the cooking. He was blessed by the cooking gods and could amp up the flavour in any dish he prepared. Even a simple bowl of rice. Temari feels dejected. She looks about the quite apartment and tries to familiarise herself with the furniture and all the nooks and crevices for the next many years she'll be here. Under the same roof as him. There's the couch where they're accustomed to watching movies but now would be having post coming-home conversations. There are the cell phones charging by the television through which they could keep in touch when either of them would be on missions. There was the Nara clan insignia on the wooden chimes by the balcony door. The floors which they'll clean in turns. The spare room where the guests could stay, such as her brothers or Yoshino. This was her home now. Her thoughts are interrupted by feet being dragged out of their bedroom. He rubs his eyes and looks at her.

"What are you doing up so early?" he drawls. "I thought we were going to stay in bed and sleep all day."

"I wanted to make breakfast", she says in a low voice. Shikamaru sniffs the air and his face contorts ever so slightly, but he doesn't say anything.

"Let's do it then", he says after a pause in which the low hum of the outside world can be heard.

"I burned everything", she says, bitterly. But Shikamaru merely walks to the fridge and takes out tomatoes, chillies, fresh eggs, more bread, and a pack of bacon from the freezer.

"I'll make sure it won't happen again", he says with arms full of food and a smile. Temari gets off the stool and helps him out, starting with slicing the tomatoes.

This is the kitchen where they'll cook meals together, and help each other out when either of them messes up. Temari doesn't need to familiarise herself with all of it anymore. She already knows.

 ***S.P.E.C.T.R.U.M***

v. When he stretches his hand to the side of the bed, his palm comes in contact with a bundle of blankets and not human skin. It's empty and slightly cold. Shikamaru sighs. It was the third time that month. He sits up and ties his hair in his usual ponytail before flipping the blankets away and getting out of bed. A faint light is switched on in the living room and he finds Temari standing directly in front of the wall painting she had brought with her, hanging over the white couch. He walks over to stand beside her. He doesn't say anything, doesn't move a muscle. He looks at the painting, the dust flying in the sky, the buildings made of sand stone and wood, the tower of the Kazekage more visible than the other buildings. He turns his head to watch her. There is a sense of longing in her teal eyes, a yearning. For all he knew she probably had been crying a while ago while he was fast asleep.

"It's been a month", she says, her voice calm and steady. It never surprised him, her ability to always keep it together. She crosses her arms over her night gown and tilts her head.

"You're missing Suna again." It is more of a statement than a question. She doesn't say anything, just simply looks at the picture.

"Yes", she finally whispers and sits down on the couch. Shikamaru sits down beside her and puts an arm around her shoulder, bringing her closer to him.

"Do you need to go visit?"

"No," she says, playing with the strings of her gown. "It's only been a month since our wedding."

Normally she would stay in Konoha for two to three months, or even more if her duties called for it, without ever feeling the slightest bit home-sick. This is different. Because now, she has a new home. At least, he hopes she knows that.

"There's no shame in it", he soothes. "Suna is your home first. It's where you were born, where you grew up, where your family is. If you want to visit and stay there for a while it's fine." He tries to sound as supportive and unhinged as he can, but there's still a part of him that wants, that has always wanted, Temari to never leave his side. How he would stand at the gates a long while even after she was out of sight. How he would wait outside her hotel from even before the assigned time.

She brings her hands together. "I want to have a family here", she says. "I want to become a part of Konoha. Suna is my home, but now, so is the Leaf Village. And if I go back now, I'll be giving up on the idea of ever trying to settle here and I'm not going to do that." She looks up at him. "I have a family in Konoha now as well."

It may have made him look selfish, even though he wasn't trying to be, but Shikamaru feels elated upon hearing that. He wants a family, more than anything, with her. That's why they agreed to it. That's why he had gotten down on one knee in the most conventional way possible to propose to her.

His fingers intertwine with hers.

"We'll pay a visit to Suna every year", he reassures. "Because I don't want you to ever forget your roots." She smiles at him, a genuine bright smile. So very Temari-like.

"Let's go back to sleep", he says, helping her up.

 ***S.P.E.C.T.R.U.M***

vi. "Where's your wedding ring?" she inquires, pointing to his finger, in the middle of them completing paperwork together in the study room. Shikamaru looks at it and traces a hand around nervously.

"I don't wear it when I'm working or on missions", he says distractedly.

Temari bites back the urge to flick his forehead, but instead raises her eyebrow and taps her foot. He lets out a sigh and caps his pen.

"You can at least wear it when you're home. Like right now."

"Well I forget to sometimes. Shinobi don't usually wear their wedding rings. It can get lost easily", he argues. "There are dangerous missions springing up in a moment's notice and I can't fight the enemies while concerned about my ring."

"So you decide to never wear it", she spits, crossing her arms, her lower lip askew in vexation.

"Come on, Tem", he reaches for her hand. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Just forget about it. The ring is a symbol of our marriage, of the sacrifices we made, of the alliance of our villages. And you treat it like it's nothing" She gets up from her chair, grabbing the various documents strewn all over her side of the table, and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Are you and daddy having a fight?" Shikadai tugs at the hem of her yukata as she slices the tomatoes and cabbage. He looks up at her with his large teal eyes. He may look 90% like Shikamaru, but he definitely had his mother's inquisitive nature.

"No sweetie", she says, bending down to ruffle his hair. "You don't have to worry about our little arguments."

"Are you sure?" says the five-year old, who was already prepared to take on the world with his brain brimming with questions.

"Absolutely", she smiles, giving him a kiss on the forehead before going back to her cooking.

She doesn't talk to Shikamaru for three days.

One night, when she's studying a medical scroll after tucking Shikadai in, he enters through the door, taking off his slippers. She doesn't say a word and neither does he. He sets his bag down on the couch before walking over to the table where she's seated under a ceiling lamp. He opens a black pouch and dumps the contents on the table. They hit the surface with a clank. Temari lifts her gaze to see to a wedding band attached to a chain and a second identical chain without anything.

"What's this?" she inquires, not even trying to suppress her confusion.

"I had been looking for my wedding ring for days. Found it in Shikadai's toy chest two days back." He pulls a chair back and sits down. "Got these made so I won't have to worry about losing it again. Sorry I didn't tell you earlier." A faint red hue dusts her cheeks, a mixture of guilt and admiration. She takes the simple chain in her hand and Shikamaru takes the other and puts it around his neck, tucking the wedding band underneath his shirt. She slips off her ring and pulls the chain through it, clasping the hook at the end.

"See, now you won't have to worry about losing it either."

She lets out a chuckle before hooping the chain around her neck.

She really did marry an idiot.

 **End.**


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